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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23858539">family (and the lack of it)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussihavelovedthestarstoofondly/pseuds/ussihavelovedthestarstoofondly'>ussihavelovedthestarstoofondly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars, star wars the clone wars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Gen, SO MUCH SADNESS, So much angst, tw MAJOR character death, tw suicidal ideation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:03:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,474</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23858539</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussihavelovedthestarstoofondly/pseuds/ussihavelovedthestarstoofondly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You’ll never live up to what they want you to be: you’re a girl and half-clone. Nothing you do, no matter how good you are, will ever make up for it. <br/>    He’s definitely not expecting you to catch the blade of the knife in your hand, grinning at him as blood starts to pool in your hand, dripping down your arm. <br/>    “Try again,” you snarl.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The bad batch x reader gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>family (and the lack of it)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Heed the trigger warnings friends: suicidal ideation, and major character death. <br/>This story is SAD, thanks Kayla.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Chapter One: family (and the lack of it)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sometimes, when you’re lying in the sleeping pod on Kamino staring at the ceiling that you can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> see in the darkness, you wonder if it would be easier if you simply threw yourself off the landing platform in one of Kamino’s storms and let the ocean drown you. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>It would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>easier</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and quite possibly </span>
  <em>
    <span>kinder</span>
  </em>
  <span> than whatever the clone cadet in front of you is planning. The vibroblade he’s holding glints in the low light of the back hallway, and you feel a snarl curl your lips. It probably would have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>smarter</span>
  </em>
  <span> to have not kicked his ass in hand to hand training earlier, but it would feel even worse to just let them steamroller over you. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>You’ll never live up to what they want you to be: you’re a girl and </span>
  <em>
    <span>half-clone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Nothing you do, no matter how good you are, will ever make up for it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He’s definitely not expecting you to catch the blade of the knife in your hand, grinning at him as blood starts to pool in your hand, dripping down your arm. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Try again,” you snarl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>At this point, you realize, it’s probably best to just start digging so you can bury your expectations for your life and general personal treatment somewhere near Kamino’s center. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“CT 99.” You roll your eyes at Commander Colt’s voice. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’m busy,” you tell him, not looking up from the training blaster that you’re cleaning for the next squad’s run at the Citadel Challenge. “Come bother me some other time.” You don’t have to hear his exasperated sigh, you can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> the anger and irritation from across the room. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You have a new assignment,” he tells you. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>joy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” you snark, dragging out the word. “Did a poor little cadet throw up on the flight simulator again?” You ask him. When he doesn’t respond, you glance sideways, and see his fists curled tight, heat rising in his face as he glares at you. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh no, did I make you mad, Colt?” You sing-song. “Forgive me, I’m a little sore because if you don’t remember I just had an internal organ removed. And besides, what are you going to do? Hit me? That stopped being scary years ago.” You see him take a deep breath, and slowly let it out. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No,” he says, and the word is tense. “You’re joining Clone Force 99.” You raise an eyebrow at him leaning back a little to try to adjust the pressure on the slowly healing surgical cut running between your hip bones. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Y’know, if you want to kill me all you had to do was point a blaster at me and pull the trigger. No one would care, in fact I’m pretty sure most would </span>
  <em>
    <span>celebrate</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” you tell him. He sighs, and shifts his weight. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s not me assigning you. It’s General Shaak Ti,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh wonderful,” you shoot back. You feel the irritation rolling off of him, and it makes you want to laugh. The clones are too easy to rile up. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Come on. You have to get armor,” he says. You roll your eyes as you stand up to hide the flinch of pain from the still healing surgery. You try to avoid thinking about the surgery; about that they took. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>easier</span>
  </em>
  <span> to pretend it never happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Normally, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> your short hair, hate how you’re forced to keep it cut so it can fit under a helmet easily, hate how it makes you that much more of a slave to a Republic you hate. Sometimes, when you close your eyes, you remember how it felt when your mother brushed it, how it felt to have her gentle finger run through it as she braided it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Right now though, you’re grinning at Crosshair, blood on your knuckles and your lower lip, a familiar sneer on your face, and pretty relieved that your hair isn’t long enough to flop into your eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Whatcha gonna, pretty boy? Hit me again? C’mon on then, don’t just stand there,” you goad him. The sniper launches at you, and you side-step, your punch landing squarely in his kidney, and he hits the ground on his knees. You grab his head, and slam it into your knee. You hear as much as you feel his nose crunch. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Bitch!” He snaps. You laugh as you dance away from him, watching as he scrambles up, spinning to glare at you. You grin wider, taking note of Tech and Hunter approaching the two of you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna need better words than that if you think you’re going to hurt me,” you tell him. Words had stopped holding power long ago. Almost five years ago, when you had been ripped out of your mother’s arms at four years old on Coruscant and taken to be a soldier in some </span>
  <em>
    <span>war</span>
  </em>
  <span> you didn’t, and still don’t, care about. Crosshair stumbles towards you, snarling. You laugh. He’s the easiest to rile up, which is pretty funny to you since he’s also the quietest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stick with sniping, pretty boy. Hand to hand isn’t your strong suit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you two doing?” Hunter snaps. You grin at them, and feel the blood on your teeth from how your lip had been cut against your teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh you know, just practicing some hand to hand,” you tell them. Cross has straightened up, still glaring at you. The blood is still oozing from his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Cross,” Tech tells him, gently grabbing the sniper's elbow and leading him into the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marauder</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “She really got your nose good,” Tech notes. You snort, but they’re too deep in the ship for you to catch the words Cross uses to respond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t get it do you?” Hunter asks. You tilt your head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get what? There’s plenty that you all think I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” you tell him. You watch as the Sergeant steps closer until he can lean in over you. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>funny</span>
  </em>
  <span> you tell yourself, that he thinks he can scare you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll never understand what it means to be part of the Bad Batch. You weren’t a clone to begin with, you were just some throw away accident that the Republic wanted to use to make a statement to the clones. Look what happens when you make a baby, they’re telling them. You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>to them. They sent you here to die. To get killed so no one has to deal with you. You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>going to be part of the Bad Batch. You don’t have anywhere to go.” You tilt your head when he finishes his rant and lean in even closer, nose practically brushing his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I’m trash, Hunter, then stab me. Throw my body on a garbage heap. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get rid of me.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He doesn’t say anything and you scoff, stepping back, pretending that his words don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, are you scared they’ll hurt your brothers cause you hurt me? Newsflash, Hunter. They don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>care </span>
  </em>
  <span>about me,” you snap, turning on your heel and stalking off into the woods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurts to hear Hunter’s words far more that you thought it would. You hadn’t realized that somewhere, in between the missions that you actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>excelled</span>
  </em>
  <span> at, in between picking fights with Crosshair and pretending to not listen to Tech while you tried to absorb every piece of information he shared, somewhere in there you had let yourself slip. You had let yourself </span>
  <em>
    <span>hope </span>
  </em>
  <span>that these men, scorned and shunned for their differences just like you, would finally be the place where you could find a </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your four years on Kamino had been hell, had prepared you for the reality of constantly being the lowest of the low, hated and degraded, a pincushion for the Kaminoan scientists who took away your chance of ever creating a family for yourself, the scientists who gave you the ability to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> the hate and disdain held for you. You didn’t realize how </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerous</span>
  </em>
  <span> this assignment was going to be. Having the carrot of everything you could never have dangling in front of your face, and how truly blindsided you were by how </span>
  <em>
    <span>hopeful</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’d become. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The slow meandering path through the trees towards the sound of water that you follow leads you to a cliff. The plastoid armor is hard where it digs into your legs as you sit on the cliff’s edge, but you don’t pay it any mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a terrible moment, looking at the white foaming waters below, you contemplate just… tipping forward. It would be so </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But you shake your head. You won’t give them that satisfaction. You don’t want to give them the satisfaction of you </span>
  <em>
    <span>crying</span>
  </em>
  <span> either, but alone, out here it doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>matter</span>
  </em>
  <span> you suppose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you close your eyes, you feel the shame of hot tears roll down your face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In that moment, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy</span>
  </em>
  <span> to accept. Painful, world-shatteringly painful, but easy. You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to get the family the clones claim to be. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Captain Rex</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the man who your mother always told you about, the man who she told you was your </span>
  <em>
    <span>father</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he cursed you the minute he took your mother to bed. You never stood a chance, and that </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowledge</span>
  </em>
  <span> breaks you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You press the heels of your palms into your eyes harsh enough that they hurt, and then put one hand in your mouth so you can bite down to stifle the sobs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re never going to have a family</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you tell yourself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>time to cry it all out right now sweetheart because that fact is </span>
  </em>
  <span>never</span>
  <em>
    <span> going to change.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes you want to smile, almost, at how pissed Cross gets when he can’t get a rise out of you, can’t goad you into any fights. The Bad Batch already hates you, will never accept you, so what’s the point? Why waste energy proving them right when they always </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> they were right? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s what you’re thinking about when you see the droid’s blaster pointing at Crosshair’s back. At least, that’s what you </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell</span>
  </em>
  <span> yourself you’re thinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what you’re really thinking as you </span>
  <em>
    <span>move</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is how Cross always remembers to check on Tech when Tech has sequestered himself away with his holo pad, scrolling through databases worth of information, how Cross always remembers to make Tech eat. How Cross sits, quietly, next to Hunter after some missions, and it’s not a quiet born of reticence or distance, it’s Crosshair knowing what his brother needs and reacting to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So what you’re thinking about, technically, when you shove Crosshair out of the way so you can take a blaster bolt meant for him, is that you hate them. The clones, the Jedi, the Bad Batch, you hate all of them. But you don’t hate them </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough </span>
  </em>
  <span>to let a droid kill their brother. You don’t hate them enough to condemn them to feel the pain you’re forever cursed to live with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You grunt as the bolt hits you, and you hear Cross snap “what the fuck” as he misses his shot, but suddenly you can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your chest is too tight, and there’s red staining the white of your armor, and you can feel Crosshair’s fingers tight on your elbow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“99?” He asks. “Hey, woah, shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You glance down, and are surprised to see that there’s pieces of plastoid armor sticking out of you instead of a burned hole running through your chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hunter, she’s hit,” you hear Cross say. You cough, barely a tiny movement of your chest and you swear it feels like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>supernova</span>
  </em>
  <span> detonated somewhere near your spine, radiating outwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t think the armor fit too well. Boobs were in the way,” you mutter. The floor is suddenly rushing up to greet you, field of vision narrowing. There’s a hard jerk on your arm, a painful pop, and the black walls finally crash in on you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing you notice is that for once in your damn life you think you’ve gotten </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> sleep. A good night of sleep. Whatever horizontal surface you’re laying on is actually pretty comfortable. You don’t want to move, but instinct is telling you to get up, get up </span>
  <em>
    <span>right now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So you do and something in your abdomen hurts, stings and pulls, when you throw your leg to the left, toes searching for the floor. You’re halfway to sitting up, and just about to open your eyes when you feel hands on your shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> do you think you’re doing?” Your body moves before your brain processes, and you grab the hand on your right shoulder, fingers curling around the thumb before pulling, twisting the arm until the owner is swearing in pain. “Hey it’s me, damnit, you’re fine ok? No droids. Just me.” You open your eyes, meet Hunter’s and it takes a minute for your brain to react and your fingers to let go of his hand. By now, it feels like there’s a wildfire in your chest, the pain burning along every nerve.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lay the hell down will you?” He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” You shoot back. He groans, rolls his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you remember the chest piece of your armor shattering? Impaling you in twenty seven different places?” You tilt your head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I?” Hunter glares at you, and slowly you comply with this wish to lay down. As you stare at the ceiling of somewhere that you’re pretty sure isn’t the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Havoc Marauder</span>
  </em>
  <span> and definitely isn’t Kamino, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> remember the shot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You remember shoving Crosshair, and remember pain and blackness. Hunter sighs, and slowly sinks back down into the chair that you hadn’t noticed next to your bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember us getting you out?” You feel your lips curl into a snarl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should have left me there Sarge. Wasn’t that the whole point of me being assigned to the Bad Batch anyway?” He doesn’t say anything, but you hear him get up and leave. You close your eyes, and try to breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the same chestplate,” Tech states as you snap a new, white plastoid chest piece on. You want to snap back some bitchy comment about his observational skills, but you don’t. You just raise an eyebrow, cause he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>technically</span>
  </em>
  <span> ask a question, and continue putting on your armor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your chest is still sore from the pieces they pulled out. Tech doesn’t say anything else, and you go move onto the vambraces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you going to do something about it?” Tech finally prompts. You don’t look at him as you pull your bucket on. Your hair is getting longer, too. It’ll hurt to brush it out after it gets tangled under your helmet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” you say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” He asks. You’re acutely aware of Wrecker, Hunter, and Cross watching in the background. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You want to snap out a “why bother” but you don’t. It’s easier to just ignore it, turn back to the DC-15 rifle in front of you and pick it up. Tech doesn’t stop you as you walk away. And that, you think, says </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a cold night out, and you try to ignore how the Bad Batch is, essentially, cuddled up together on the other side of the fire from you. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> shiver, you tell yourself as you stare at the flames and try, </span>
  <em>
    <span>desperately</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to not listen to their conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have to get physicals next time we pass a medical base,” Hunter says. You hear Wrecker groan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate physicals! And doctors!” He announces. You tell yourself that you’re not going to respond, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re not</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate doctors, too,” you say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The fuck happened to not responding? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You ask yourself. You see the Bad Batch freeze. You’ve hardly said a word to them in the weeks since your </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful</span>
  </em>
  <span> hospitalization and you and Hunter’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>enlightening</span>
  </em>
  <span> conversation prior to that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Tech asks. You roll your eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m the daughter of a clone and a human,” You tell them. They stare at you and you roll your eyes. “I was a pincushion to the Kaminoans. Same as I’m sure you four were. An </span>
  <em>
    <span>experiment</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see where they think they went wrong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They spent months figuring out why I couldn’t see well. Ended up just making it worse,” Tech says. You glance down at your hand, at where you’re picking at the scar that you’ve reopened more than once by picking at it. You got it from catching a knife in some back hallway on Kamino. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” you say. “They always make it worse.” Crosshair, to your surprise, gets up and comes to sit next to you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he says. You shrug, picking at the scar more, and the new scabs that lie on top of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t the one cutting me open,” you tell him. He just scoots closer to you, trying to share heat, you realize. It’s quiet around the campfire, but not a bad quiet. You glance at Wrecker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hold my hand, I’ll hold yours,” you tell him. He laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal,” he tells you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your name is Dala.” You flinch where you’re sitting in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marauder's</span>
  </em>
  <span> pilot seat, before turning slowly to look at Hunter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” You ask him. He walks across the cockpit, and slowly slides into the co-pilot's seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clones get their names from themselves or their brothers,” he says. “And since you’re clearly not going to it for yourself, your brothers are doing it. Your name is Dala.” You tilt your head and willingly, for once, gently reach your empathy out, trying to feel what, exactly, he’s feeling. It takes you a minute to place the emotion running through him, and you’re startled when you do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re nervous,” you tell him. His hands twitch like he wants to move them but isn’t sure what to do with them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he admits. It takes you a long moment to realize why: he isn’t sure if you’ll accept it, accept </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s trying to make amends for what he said, for what he did, without knowing how to ask for forgiveness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dala isn’t very creative,” you tell him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither is Crosshair,” he shoots back. You scoff, a tiny smile pulling on your cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you wanted to be less creative, you could call me girl,” you tell him. “It means essentially the same thing.” He scoffs and puts on a look of mock indignation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First of all, you’re a woman not a girl, second of all, Dala sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> cooler.” You huff in amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah it does,” you admit, before smiling gently at him. “I’ll let my brothers name me.” Hunter </span>
  <em>
    <span>grins</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is this?” You ask Tech, tilting the piece of plastoid so you can examine it. You hear Tech groan like he thinks you’re being exceptionally dense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a chest piece. That will fit you and account for… anatomical differences.” You smile at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can say boobs, Tech,” you tell him, and you hear Hunter snort where he’s sharpening his blades. Tech huffs, rolling his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not just that, the curvature of your waist and spine are a little different than ours, I got the measurements based off of recordings of you on our missions,” he says, the cadence of his speech picking up as he grows more excited. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it was anyone else, Tech, I’d break their face.” He tilts his head in confusion as you pull off the white armor you still have on and pull the new piece he made you on. You’ve got to give it to Tech, his measurements were spot on. The piece fits amazingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, Tech, this is awesome,” you tell him. He plops down on the end of your bed, shoving your feet over so he can cross his legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he says. “Cross did the art.” You glance down at the red skull with a crosshair painted behind it on the left side over your heart. You grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cross, you possessive of your little sister?” You ask him. He scoffs, not bothering to look up from his rifle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m not at all interested in the woman who took a blaster bolt for me and ensuring that no one tries to steal her, not at all.” You roll your eyes at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re such a little shit,” you tell him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re not?” Tech asks. You laugh, gently kick him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re supposed to be on my side,” you tell him, smile softening into something more genuine. “Thank you, Tech. Really. Thank you.” He smiles at you, soft and sweet and way too much like a ten-year-old. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome,” he tells you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit down,” Cross is demanding, shoving your shoulders so you don’t really have a choice but to sink to the floor while he sits down on the bed behind you. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, which is the only reason you don’t flinch when you feel his fingers in your hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” You ask him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shush,” he says, nudging your leg with his foot. You feel the brush in your hair, which is long enough that it comes down past your jaw and gets </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> tangled under your helmet. His fingers are gentle as he slowly starts working the brush through your hair. You think it’s your brush, but it could be Hunter’s, you didn’t get a good look at it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>You frown as he sets the brush aside. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You’re done?” You ask. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yes?” He says, but it sounds far more like a question. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“But it didn’t hurt,” you tell him. You feel him grab your hair and gently pull on it enough that you tilt your head back as he directs and look at him, eyebrows raised in a questioning manner. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You know, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hurt everytime you brush your hair.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh,” you tell him. He rolls his eyes, presses his forehead to your’s for a brief moment, and then lets you pull your head forward again. You feel his fingers sink into your hair, and it takes you a long moment to realize that he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>braiding</span>
  </em>
  <span> your hair. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>You want to ask where he learned how, but you're too busy melting into a puddle at his feet. It feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s also the first time in months that you’ve truly relaxed. When he finishes the first side, pinning the end of the braid down at the back of your head, he moves to the other side. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That feels amazing,” you tell him. He hums. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Tech’s been sending me videos. I mentioned it to him once, and he insisted I learn so I could braid your hair.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That’s thoughtful,” you murmur. Cross chuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That’s Tech.” You hum. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Very true,” you tell him, letting your eyes slip closed again as he keeps braiding your hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>furious</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Cross which, for as much as you two bicker and snap at each other, doesn’t really happen, not anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a fucking idiot,” you snap, shoving at his chest plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m probably right!” He hisses back. You groan under your helmet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For once in your damn life Cross, this isn’t about you being </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s about what you would do if it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tech</span>
  </em>
  <span> making those transmissions. What would you do then?” He doesn't respond, and you shake your head to stalk past him towards Hunter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boys,” you growl out. Hunter doesn’t say anything, just pumps his shoulder into yours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your reaction to Cross being an absolute asshold mught also be because you're significantly more touchy than normal. Afterall, you’re working with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Captain Rex.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’re working with your </span>
  <em>
    <span>father</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It makes something cold and slick settle in your stomach, and later you shake your head at the ration bar Tech tries to hand you. You miss the concern on his face. You don’t miss the feeling of concern radiating off of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’ll be a miracle, you think, if you don’t pass out before this mission is over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think?” You look up, head tilted as Hunter bodily shoves you over so he can slide in next to you on your bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About?” you prompt him, setting your holopad and the book on it aside. You accept the caff he offers you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Echo,” Hunter asks. You had been surprised when Echo had left Rex to join the Bad Batch. If the roles had been reversed, you would have bolted after Rex in a heartbeat. But then again, maybe you just want to get to know the man your mother raised you on stories of. Maybe you're biased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About whether he’ll recover?” You ask. Hunter nods, and you sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. I think he’ll end up becoming close to Tech most likely, and maybe that’ll be enough and he’ll be ok or not following Rex, not having the familiarity of the 501st and Anakin and the men he knew as his brothers will break him.” Hunter sighs, throwing his leg across yours to stretch it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask you something?” He says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” you tell him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know who your father is?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do. The Kaminoans can’t figure it out because genetically the clones are all the same so they can’t run a paternity test. They tried, and by the time they were done proving that it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> work the entire security staff on Kamino had been, genetically, proven to be my father.” Hunter laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he tells you. You grin at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They were so pissed it was so fucking funny,” you reply. He shakes his head, a gentle smile on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you think Echo will react to living with a sister?” You ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably better if you put a shirt on,” Hunter snaps. You laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop being a doormat and make Wrecker turn the heat down and I’ll put a shirt on,” you tell him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You not wearing a shirt around the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marauder</span>
  </em>
  <span> had, originally, started out as a way to show off the tattoo you’d gotten on that shore leave; a black skull with a red crosshair on the left side of your ribs to match the one on your armor. The boys had </span>
  <em>
    <span>exploded</span>
  </em>
  <span>, yelling and swearing and Cross had slapped his hands over his eyes and yelled: </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, that’s my vod’ika!” and you had sat down on the floor of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marauder </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the bottoms of your blacks and your sports bra and </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughed</span>
  </em>
  <span> until you couldn’t breathe and there were tears running down your cheeks. When Tech realized you wouldn’t be moving anytime soon, he’d thrown a blanket over you and bolted for the door. That had only served to make you laugh harder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You shake your head, leaning into Hunter’s shoulder and focusing on projecting a gentle, reassuring calm. He hums, murmurs a thank you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any time,” you tell him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re not used to seeing Shaak Ti, or any of the Jedi really, but she’s here checking in with the Bad Batch anyway, running through a tour of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marauder</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and occasionally glancing at you. She can probably feel your disdain, how much you don’t like her. You’re not sure you’d call it hate, what you feel towards Jedi, not anymore, but you definitely don’t get the warm and fuzzies when you look at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s turning to ask Tech a question, and you can feel the emotional signature that marks one of Crosshair’s eye rolls, when Echo, Tech and Wrecker </span>
  <em>
    <span>drop</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the deck of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marauder</span>
  </em>
  <span>, bodies jerking and contorting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrecker!” You shout, dropping to your knees, and shaking him since he’s the closest to you. He doesn’t respond, and blood starts running out of his nose. You look up to tell Hunter to call for a medic, and to ask Cross for help, but they have their blasters raised at Shaak Ti. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hunter! Cross! What the kriff are you doing? I need </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” You tell them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Jedi must </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Hunter says. You jump up, pulling your blaster and standing between them and Shaak Ti. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ori’vod, what are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” You ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Jedi must die,” they say in unison. Two blaster shots ring out, and you hear the distinctive sound of bodies hitting the floor. There’s smoking holes in Cross and Hunter’s chests, and the noise that comes out of your mouth is somewhere between a sob and agony. You bite your lip to tamp down on any more sounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Shaak Ti says. You whirl on her, all the fury at the Jedi and the Republic suddenly slamming into you full force, a tidal wave of repression and fury. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> thank me. You destroyed any chance I had at a family because of some damn war that I never wanted to be a part of. I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed</span>
  </em>
  <span> my family because I couldn’t watch them kill someone for no reason,” you snarl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if they had had a good reason?” She asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I would have helped them. Now get the hell off my ship so I can go bury my brothers,” you snap. Her eyes are sad as she walks away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shaak Ti,” you call once she hits the bottom of the ramp. She turns to look at you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you lose.” And with that, you close the ramp of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marauder</span>
  </em>
  <span>, leaving you alone with the bodies of your family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The section of Mandalore’s moon, Concordia, that you land on is deserted. No one but you, the birds in the trees, and your overwhelming numbness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shovel makes a </span>
  <em>
    <span>shwick</span>
  </em>
  <span> sound as it slides into the ground. The shovel’s worth of dirt makes a thunk as you drop it next to you. You sigh as you walk back to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marauder, </span>
  </em>
  <span>hooking your arms under Wrecker’s and slowly dragging him out and shoving his body into the hole. You slowly pile the dirt back on him, covering his face first because you’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>coward</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You pound a stake into the ground the top of the grave, and hang Wrecker’s helmet on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You turn back towards the ship to repeat the process with the rest of your brothers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Echo is the last one you bury, the newest of your brothers. You shake your head as you hang his helmet on the stake, stepping backwards to look at the five graves. Your knees buckle, and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sob</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You can’t stop thinking about how Hunter asked you if </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> knew who your father was and that he never asked to know himself. You can’t stop thinking about how Wrecker never complained when you squeezed his hand so hard during physicals that his fingers turned white, and how Cross always got you both a cupcake afterwards. You can’t stop thinking about how </span>
  <em>
    <span>excited</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tech was about his first bantha burger, and how he accidentally smeared grease across his glasses and then how Hunter had washed them for him. You can’t stop thinking about how </span>
  <em>
    <span>shy</span>
  </em>
  <span> Echo was when he asked for two milkshakes when you were taking dinner orders, one strawberry and one chocolate so he could mix them together, and trick his brother Fives had taught him years ago. You can’t stop thinking about how much they all cared, the soft smile Cross got when you and Hunter spent time in the cockpit, sending messages of calm and safety to each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now all of that is gone forever, buried in the ground in front of you and it feels like there’s a burning flare lodged in your throat but it doesn’t matter: you manage to get enough air in your chest to </span>
  <em>
    <span>scream</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with the scream comes the thunder and the lighting, you feel the swell of it in your chest and suddenly it’s rolling out from you: a projection of your </span>
  <em>
    <span>anguish</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>guilt</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You don’t know if there’s anyone on this moon anymore, anyone near you, but you find you don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If you have to suffer this, so does anyone unlucky enough to find themselves here with you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The projection rolls out across the moon like the unbroken wall of a storm, dark grey and blue and green streaked through with the sharp cracks of lighting and the ominous roll of thunder. But inside that storm it feels like </span>
  <em>
    <span>fire</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something deep and irreparable in the left side of your chest has </span>
  <em>
    <span>shattered</span>
  </em>
  <span>, blown it’s top and exploded just like a volcano. And there are rivers of lava, pain, burning through you, your chest and heart, carving tunnels that fill with smoke and ash and then calcify, and anything that isn’t burned by the lava is smoked out, choked and dried up under the thick layer of ash and rock that’s coating the inside of your chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You feel like you can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the grass under your forehead feels disproportionately cold, but somehow you manage to scream again, another projection of agony, of the complete and utter annihilation of anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>soft</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>sweet</span>
  </em>
  <span>, of anything that made you the sister the Bad Batch </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved</span>
  </em>
  <span> dying a slow and horror-filled death in the cavity of your chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You slowly lean to the side, splaying out on the grass in front of your brothers’ graves, their helmets hanging like ghosts of sentinels in the starlight, your chest completely empty, tears slowly drying on your face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>It’s been six weeks. Six weeks since you buried your family on Concordia. Six weeks since the Empire won the war, and took power. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>It’s been six weeks since you cut your hair with a knife because you’d never learned how to braid; Cross had always done it for you. Six weeks since you left your life behind, walked away from the GAR and everything you knew but didn’t care about. You think you died on that planet with each shovel of dirt you dropped on your brothers’ bodies. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>And now, on some backwater planet that mostly escaped the war and doesn’t have a spaceport, you see a pair of familiar sunshine-on-copper eyes staring at you from across the cantina. For the first time in six weeks, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>something. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>And you’re pretty sure it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>fear</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You don’t move as Captain Rex, your </span>
  <em>
    <span>father </span>
  </em>
  <span>makes his way towards you. You freeze, body tensing up as you get ready for a fight. He slowly slides into the seat across from you. You drop your eyes to the table. You can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>look </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him because all you see are the brothers’ you </span>
  <em>
    <span>buried</span>
  </em>
  <span>, all you can see are the men who were supposed to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>family</span>
  </em>
  <span> and who left scars and fractures instead. All you see when you look at Rex is the dead. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>And Ahsoka? Well, even though you can’t see her, don’t know if she’s here with Rex, she’s just as bad. She may no longer be a Jedi, but she still holds a lot of their values. She’s still the epitome of how the Jedi Order </span>
  <em>
    <span>failed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, how it hurt those who were closest to it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Where are…” You shake your head as Rex starts to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I buried all five of them on Concordia,” you tell him. You don’t need to look at Rex to feel him close his eyes, feel the agony wash over him again. He’s crying for Echo. He doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>who you are</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he never </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>You can’t look at Rex because you see your eyes mirrored back at you. You see the blaster holes you put in your brother’s chest to save the life of a jedi who, through inaction and passive acceptance, condemned you and your brothers to a life of slavery and death. In Rex’s emotions you can </span>
  <em>
    <span>read </span>
  </em>
  <span>him seeing the opportunity for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>family</span>
  </em>
  <span>. For you and him to walk out of this cantina together. And maybe if he knew who you are, maybe if he hadn’t said what he said to you when you were rescuing his brother and Skako Minor, maybe then you would walk out of here with him. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>“You’re a disgrace. You're a sign that a clone forgot where his loyalties lie. You’re a blemish and they should never have let you off of Kamino.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>You had been tempted to tell him then that you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> daughter, that your mother told you stories of a brave, sweet, strong blond-haired clone captain, and that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>clearly</span>
  </em>
  <span> hadn’t forgotten his duty or his loyalties: he had forgotten your mother and never even knew you existed. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Even now, sitting here, he thinks you’re the daughter of one of his brothers. You pull out a pen and scribble down the coordinates of the graves on a napkin. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Don’t disturb anything,” you tell him, and slide the napik across the table. The tips of his fingers barely touch it as you stand, brushing past him. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>In the wave of his emotions that crash into you, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear</span>
  </em>
  <span> everything he won’t say: that he’s watching one of the last rementants of a family that used to number in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>millions</span>
  </em>
  <span> walk away from him because months ago when you reached out your hand he didn’t just slap it away, he shot it down. It’s no wonder to him that you didn’t even bother to let him try to reach his hand out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What is your name?” The Mandalorian asks. You almost say Dala, but you don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve </span>
  </em>
  <span>that name, not anymore. Not after </span>
  <em>
    <span>you killed</span>
  </em>
  <span> the man who gave it to you. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It no longer matters,” you tell her. The Mando tilts her head. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You want to join the ranks of the Mandalorians,” she says. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yes,” you tell her. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Do you swear to live by the Creed? With Strength, Honor and Loyalty?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yes,” you tell her. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Do you swear to die the way you lived? Be it with Strength, Honor, and Loyalty, or without?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You are Mandalorian. Place your helmet, and do not take it off infront of any other living thing,” she says. You grab the black beskar helmet, and pull it on. It feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> to wear a helmet again, to have the weight of armor pulling on your frame. You slide the jetpack that the Armorer hands you, and step outside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t feel as different as you had thought it would have. It doesn’t replace your brothers, but at least this way you can hide your face, </span>
  <em>
    <span>your eyes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and maybe you won’t see graves everytime you look at yourself in the mirror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>You feel your stomach </span>
  <em>
    <span>drop </span>
  </em>
  <span>as you walk through the carbonite chambers in the ship. You recognize that facial structure, and you suddenly </span>
  <em>
    <span>regret</span>
  </em>
  <span> keeping tabs on your father. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Alor,” you hear Dacian say. You ignore him in favor of tilting your head at the frozen figure. That’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>clone</span>
  </em>
  <span> frozen in that carbonite, and you have to take him to Rex. You can’t tell if you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the frozen clone. No defining features come through in the carbonite. “Alor,” Dacian’s voice is more insistent. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Do you have what we came for?” You ask him. Dacian shifts, as if your reticence to leave is bothering him. Surrounded by people whose faces are constantly covered, you're suddenly… </span>
  <em>
    <span>thankful</span>
  </em>
  <span> for your ability to read emotions. You wouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank</span>
  </em>
  <span> a kaminoan if you saw one, you’d probably kill them actually, but the ability they gave you is proving </span>
  <em>
    <span>useful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Dacian is apprehensive about whatever you’re doing. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Alor…” he starts. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Dacian, I’ll meet you on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marauder</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” you tell him, your voice sharp even through the modulator of the helmet. He sighs, but you hear him walk away from you. You reach up, and deactivate the carbonite. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>You catch the clone as he falls, and feel your breath catch in your chest. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kix.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Fuck,” you whisper. Rex has lost all of his family, all of his brothers, and now here’s one </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>, practically back from the dead. You swear in mando’a, and toss Kix over your shoulder, carrying him back to the ship. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Dacian follows you back to the sleeping alcoves, and you see his helmet tilt as you gently lay Kix on the bed. Kix is muttering, but it’s too quiet for you to hear. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Set a course for Seelos,” you tell him. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Alor, what…” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Set a course for Seelos,” you snap. You see him flinch, feel that he’s worried for you, but he turns and does as you ask. You feel the ship’s engines start. You’re still standing there next to Kix as the ship drops out of warp. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Time to face the music,” You murmur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What the kriffing hell are we doing here? With a </span>
  <em>
    <span>clone</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Dacian asks. You ignore him, tamp down the urge to blurt out that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>half clone, and you open the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marauder’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>scanning systems. You grin when they catch an AT-TE. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hey,” Dacian says, grabbing the edge of your chest piece as you stand up. “Hey, I know you’re not one for words but c’mon Mando, you gotta give me </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he says. You close your eyes, take a deep breath. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I… I can’t,” you tell him. You can feel his frustration, his fear. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Does this have to do with whatever you did before you became Mandalorian? Does it have to do with why you don’t tell anyone your name?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I didn’t.” You stop. What can you say? That you </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>do anything? Because that’s a blatant lie. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>plenty. “Yes. It has to do with that,” you eventually settle on.  </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’m coming with you,” he says. You sigh, but don’t say anything. Dacian won’t let you talk him out of it. You throw Kix over your shoulder, and you walk out onto the desert. A mountain range slices across the sky in the distance. The AT-TE is a looming smudge, about a klick away. You’re under no illusions that the clones can’t see you coming, or that they don’t know you’re coming. They’re too smart for that. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Can you at least tell me if you’re going to see friends or not?” He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’m… I’m not sure. They were friends, a long time ago. But things have changed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>people</span>
  </em>
  <span> have changed.” You hear Dacian heave a sign, and you know he’s wondering how the hell he ever got stuck with you. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That’s reassuring,” he says. You tilt your head towards him. “But, I suppose no one is as good at fighting as you were because their life was easy or non-complicated,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Not likely,” you tell him. Once you get closer, you see a figure pop out of the AT-TE. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Stop where you are! What do you want? Do you have a bounty?” You recognize Rex’s voice. You gently lay Kix down at your feet. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I think you lost this!” You yell because, and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s a callous and cruel thing to yell, but you also don’t know what else to say. You hear, faintly, Rex swear as he scrambles out of the Republic tank and over to Kix where you’ve laid him down on the desert floor. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What’s wrong with him?” He snaps. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Took too long of a nap on carbonite. Give him another twelve hours and he’ll be fine,” you tell him. Rex gently grabs Kix’s face and it hits you like a blaster bolt to the chest. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>You could have this.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You could be part of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>family</span>
  </em>
  <span>, part of </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You could reach out your hand, and pray that Rex takes it. Or, you could turn around. Go back to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marauder</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the Guild and death that doesn’t mean anything other than money and fuel. But, that way, you only lose one thing: the </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibility</span>
  </em>
  <span> of a family. If you take your helmet off and Rex shoots your hand just as fast as he did before you went to Skako Minor, you lose everything. The creed, Dacian, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>family. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>So you spin sharply, cape flapping, and stalk back towards the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marauder</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Dacian follows you, and he slams into you when you stop. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I can’t,” you whisper. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Alor, you can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Take the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marauder</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Go back to the Guild,” you tell him, spinning again and stalking back towards where Rex is still kneeling next to Kix. He looks up as you approach, but waits until you’re standing next to them before speaking. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What are you doing?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well,” you say, voice raspy through the modulator. You turn enough to look at Dacian, still standing where you left him. You slowly reach up, and pull your helmet off. Dacian turns away, and you turn back to Rex. “Clearly, someone has to keep this family together,” you tell him. Rex shoves up off the ground and wraps his arms around you, both of you leaning over Kix. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Thank you,” he says. You close your eyes, arms winding tight around him. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You’re welcome,” you tell him. For the first time in a long time, since Order 66, since you buried your family, something that isn’t anger flutters in the left side of your chest. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
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